


The Expressionistic Hell of Fred Jones

by Barbara_Burton



Category: KISS (US Band), Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Scooby Doo! and KISS: Rock and Roll Mystery (2015)
Genre: Angst, Compare and Contrast, F/M, First Time, Groupies, Parallels, Post-Canon, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbara_Burton/pseuds/Barbara_Burton
Summary: Fred Jones can't find Daphne after solving mystery of Red Witch. He has no idea where she is and what she is doing, doesn't he?
Relationships: Daphne Blake/Fred Jones, Daphne Blake/Paul Stanley, daphne blake/starchild
Kudos: 1





	The Expressionistic Hell of Fred Jones

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic translated from Russian to English, so I'm not sure if the text look well but I hope you'll like it. I deleted my ficbook account, so there's no longer URL of the original work.

Room by room. Door by door. The endless forks of the corridors resembled a labyrinth. Deserted and monotonous. The pace of the run dropped to a normal pace. The loud sighs of the already gasping guy echoed through the empty spaces. He shook the sweat from his face and caught his breath. He was filled with anger rather than anxiety. The young man had been looking for her for more than an hour. That stupid bitch walked away without saying anything. Who instilled in her that she could just take and leave? Whore. Bastard. Cunt. For so many years she was always there, and now she simply disappears without answering the phone calls. As much as possible, he hit the plasterboard wall. It was empty inside. The dent appeared. He grabbed his hand with knuckles combed to blood. Painful. After wiping the blood on his sweater, the young man continued his search. Yes, he hated her for what he had to go through, but still he moved on. I still really wanted to see this stupid slut, to take her by the hand and lead to the van. Drag her there by force.

“I knew you'd like it. This kind of wine was made for you, as you were for me.”  
A quiet girlish laugh sounds in response. An empty glass is filled with odorous red wine. The man sits down next to her closely. For a couple of seconds, when he passes the glass, their fingers touch, as if it was by accident. The ginger-haired schoolgirl flushes, an embarrassed smile crosses her face. She hides her eyes, barely turns away, trying to control herself, and he deliberately with a slight movement, turns her face to himself.

“Don't you like me?” He looks so frankly that it seems that the sight penetrates right through, and speaks in such a heartfelt chamber voice. Before that the girl saw him without makeup only a couple of times.

“I like you very much,” she replies barely audibly.

“Then don't be afraid of me, Daphne,” she felt the musician's hand fall on her knee. Shudders, takes another sip of wine.

A sweaty and tired guy enters one of the few rooms from where voices can be heard. After-party. The girl was not in the dim light in which she was last seen. He surveyed the whole room with a penetrating gaze and began to look for at least some traces of her stay. Neither behind the sofas nor on the table - was nothing found anywhere.

The guy turns to a chubby girl in an orange jumper who, knocking over another glass of champagne, spills it both on her clothes and her face. She carelessly wipes herself off with drunk movements:

“I don’t know where your Daphne is,” notes of sadness and pretensions are heard in the tone. “And when I sprained my leg and called for help, you didn't care.”  
The schoolgirl with the bob haircut is still mumbling something, breaking into crying. She cannot be of any use. The blond man just turns around and leaves to the company of drunken musicians, not paying attention to the heart-rending sobs of the girl. Ace Frehley, as usually, is lying on a soft leather couch with his best friend - Peter Criss. As usually, he laughs with his hysterical loud laugh at the obscene joke of the Cat. Nervously fiddling with a scarlet scarf around his neck, the guy speaks bravely:

“Mister Star Man,” he stutters, can't remember the name of the guitarist with silver stars around his eyes, nevertheless, his tone is soft in an actor's way, and it does not even give off uncertainty. “Have you by any chance seen a ginger-haired girl by the age of ***teen?”

“Which one?” relaxed Ace asks with subtle boorish intonations. Too relaxed, so it becomes immediately clear: the celebrations were not limited to only alcohol. Frehley looks at the Fred who is beginning to lose his temper, and adds: “There are many of them, Mr. Crummy Tie”

The Cat laughs. The Alien looks condescendingly at the visiting gospel fan.

“The girl in purple,” shouts over that laugh, reminding them of his presence.

“The one who fell for Paul?” Peter asks casually. Pissed off by the long searches and mentions of the vocalist of the hated group, the guy clenches his fists tighter. Really wanting to beat the shit out of someone. The eyes seem to be bloodshot with rage.

“Rather Paul fell for her!” the guitarist adding fuel to the fire, fervently pushing the drummer in the shoulder. He turns to the tired guest and says “Well, you can look in the dressing room.”

“I was looking. Nothing”- he cuts off, puffing angrily. A couple of friends make a helpless gesture. The young man hurries to leave, but finally throws “I hate your faggot group.”

“Try to make your own, get world fame, make at least a couple of million dollars, and maybe your redhead girlfriend will look at you for a moment before returning to Stanley,” Frehley added sarcastically. The guy with the stupid scarf around his neck doesn't even turn around. Not even getting mad. He understands that the wearing make-up faggot is right. He does not want to accept it, this feeling lowers him to the ground and hits him on the head.

After the girl drinks the fourth glass of sweet wine, a tanned, strong hand puts it on the bedside table, while the other hand goes under the purple skirt. Daphne falls back on the silk sheets, embarrassedly covers her face with her hands and groans barely audible from shyness and a strange unknown desire. The man teasingly strokes the inside of her thigh, going to the knee, then to the lace of her panties. She trembles, shakes, howls from these incomprehensible sensations. His breath gets lost from watching this

“Paul,” Daphne moans, and the vocalist lies down next to her. “I've never felt anything like this. I-I…”

Something makes her eyes fill with tears. The lips timidly catch the air. There are many, many words in her head, thoughts about how much she loves him, but there is no determination to say it. A soft smile hardens on his face: he knows and understands everything. Daphne almost gathers herself to say the cherished three words, but she runs out of time. Paul Stanley's hot lips completely clear her mind. His assertive, but overnight gentle, tongue seems to officially confirm that Daphne now belongs to him. At least, tonight.  
Blake almost faints. How many times has she dreamed about it? Now it is happening tangibly. She can feel the heat of his Latin body, feel his curly thick hair on her fingertips, the soft touch of his strong hands on her thighs and the fact that she completely loses her mind from them. Paul pulls away for a little while from the kiss to take off his shirt, and Daphne catches herself thinking that she wants to give him all she’s got for those expressive feminine brown eyes. Throwing his clothes somewhere behind his back, Stanley puts his arms around the girl's face and reaches for the continuation, but she suddenly says:

“Wait,” he draws more air into his lungs and still decides to say: “I love you, Paul”

He smiles mysteriously and adds:

“Thank you, Daphne, I lacked this for a long time” he revels her lips again.

The blond man knocks on Van's door, but no one opens. He curses his hippie friend who took the keys and most likely sleeps in a sweet herbal dream inside. Pounding the trailer with his fists, as Hard as he can, unsuccessfully and pointlessly. Why is this trip getting worse with every passing minute? Desperate, he falls to the ground, hugging his knees. He's just a guy with no education, no mountains of gold, no Volkswagen of his own. From now on, even without friends, and without a girlfriend. Once the ginger schoolgirl showed him a collection of Kiss vinyl records. He wants to smash each one against her head. Especially Stanley's solo album, for the sake of getting it, she refused another attempt to put her in bed. Why is he so angry? Why does he hate this poor glam band so much? Because he is totally insignificant.

Van's door swings open.

“You fucked up, damn it, I won't lend you ten bucks, face it, dude” furiously blurted out a long-haired hippie, buttoning up his pants. Apparently he was really asleep. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Have you seen Daphne?” asks the quietly weakened guy, getting up from the ground. His reddened eyes were barely watering.

Reaching out, the owner of the Volkswagen reaches into his pocket for cigarettes and a lighter. Slowly lights a cigarette, thinking what to say. Shaking off his dirty, once white without lying on the ground, jumper the guy notices his hesitant gaze.

“Shaggy?”

“Well, get in the van, let's talk about it.” His tone is full of disdain.

Daph blushes when Paul lifts her skirt, but she doesn't mind, as she did with Fred. His touch, especially on her thighs, gives goosebumps down her spine. It's hard to breathe. The body is getting hot and cold. It looks like morbid delirium. From these thoughts, she is alarmed, but opening her eyes, seeing the tenderness with which Stanley is looking at her, she realizes that no hallucination, not a single vivid dream is capable of depicting something like that so realistically. The heat and weight of his body, hanging over her, were more tangible than she could imagine.

The Starchild covers her neck with kisses that are almost dry. He is not at all like the boys from school who love to slobber on absolutely everything. Being in his strong hands, Daphne, like Lori Maddox, is sure - this is the best jackpot in her life she could ever hit. She wants to repay in the same way: she buries her hand in his hair, gently strokes his back with a trembling palm, fearing, goes down the spine. She frantically tries to remember at least some article from a women's magazine or an erotic scene, she does not understand what to do, at all. The vocalist unties her light green tie and throws it somewhere on the floor. Grabs the hem of the dress, in a moment it is falls down. For a split second, fear slips across Daphne's face. It's still so hard to suppress the feeling of awkwardness. However, his grip becomes stronger, which makes Daph shudder and arch in this strange agony. Waves of vibrations cover every cell of her soul, something she has never felt.  
He pulls back from her, walks to the dresser, pulls out a pack of condoms. The girl sees distinct straight scratches on his back. Apparently even fresh. Blake is a little embarrassed, but instantly she convinces herself: a life of a rock star cannot be otherwise. Paul puts a pair of condoms in his back pocket and hurries back to Daphne. His palms rest freely on her breast. She barely moans. How wrong it all is! An almost stranger, much older than her, touches her as he pleases. What would her mom say? How would a father like the news of losing his virginity at ***teen?! Daphne blushes. She even thinks she wants to stop, but instead silently tries to hold back her tears. The Starchild takes off the white lace bra. As he straightens her hair for another kiss, Stanley notices teardrops on her cheeks.

“Is something wrong, honey?” He coos, wiping away his tears.

“This is… my first time,” Daphne stutters and becomes even more embarrassed. Shyly, she covers her face with her hands, presenting the worst case scenario - how Paul puts her out the door of his room, not wanting to burden himself with responsibility. However, he removes her hands from her face.

“Everything will be fine, don’t be afraid” the man says and kisses her lips. It helps. Even if Daph is kicked out of the house and the team, she is sure: Vocalist of the Kiss band will stay with her.

Melting under the heavenly rain of kisses going to her chest, Blake is forgotten in the thought that life has never been so beautiful. Paul goes down and down. Daphne flinches when his lips touch the strip of lace panties. She puts her hand on his head to stop him. Paul freezes and looks at her. The girl blushes even more.  
“You’ll like it, I promise,” he whispers, smiling slyly. His tongue passes through the tissue along the labia. Daphne gasps. Everything inside is shrinking. Trying to hold back the moans that tend to turn into a scream, she hums with pleasure. Starchild teases her with brisk movements. Blake squirms languidly. Fingers slide along the elastic of the panties. He wants her to beg him herself. Suddenly stops. There is silence for a couple of seconds.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t told me to fuck off so far,” Fred tries to dispel the looming awkward pause. The hippie, with a cigarette between his lips, rummages under the seat for a belt. Finds it, tightens it tight on the waist. “So, Shaggy, where is Daph?”

With some aggression, Rogers pushes the cigarette butt into the ashtray. The blond does not see the tension on his face, the frowning eyebrows, the compressed lips, he does not hear the creak of his teeth. He does not see any irony in the current situation. He literally does not notice that he is sitting in the same place where the owner of the minibus sat a year ago, just as out of breath and dishevelled. The athlete is glad that he found at least one loyal friend who did not yell at him and bully, but the rage begins to show through inside him anyway. The silence of a friend is incredibly annoying.

“Where's she?” he filters through his teeth.

Shaggy sighs heavily and decides to say something:

“As if you do not know where she is” Fred looks up and sees with what contempt the interlocutor is looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Something you’re trying not to think about,” Rogers snaps.

“Are you saying that Daphne is with this bastard singer now?” there is no answer. Everything is already very clear. A veil of rage covers him again. He spills it onto Van's wall.

“Hey, you’ll fucking pay for the repairs yourself!

Fred doesn't hear him. He hits the back of his head against the wall again and again. Fucking trip. Nasty music. Filthy bastards. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Shaggy pulls him by the scruff of his neck, and the guy lies on the floor. No matter how much he ran, whoever he came to, he would not find her. His girlfriend was defamed, trampled into the mud, and worst of all - by her will. She will never return.

The hippie examines the walls for dents. Fortunately, there is nothing. Jones writhes on the dirty floor of the van and almost seems to sob. This sight makes the owner Van feel like throwing up, wanting to kick the fuck out of the van this slobber. The guy clenches his fists tighter: No, this is contrary to his beliefs.

“What’s wrong?” Rogers asks for the sake of decency, as if he cares about the boy's heart.

“Daphne… My Daphne…” Fred mumbles, sobbing. He didn't deserve it. All these random coincidences led them to the wrong place, but this is an accident, right? It should help to get things back to normal. Should it? No, most likely. He is trembling all over, cannot stop crying. How disgusting, I suppose, it looks from the outside... It is not good for such a handsome man, the favourite of all the girls at school, to wallow in the mud and his own tears. All his dignity seemed to be bold by his hand. A fucking whore. Fucking faggot. Fucking records. He is sick of hearing his own roar.  
“I beg you, continue” Daph cannot resist and immediately covers her mouth with her hand. How vulgar, but she can't resist it any more. As soon as he pulls off the remnants of her underwear.

“You allow me to?” he smiled slyly.

“Y-yeah,” she gasps, letting singer of the Kiss band, who is a dozen years older, pull her panties off. With his lips Paul clung to the hot, smooth bosom of the girl. She doesn't understand what is happening at all. She is still trembling, but he continues to perform unthinkable tongue manipulations. Every second the same thought rings: It can't be so pleasant. I so want this moment to last forever. The anticipation grows and grows. Having reached the peak, an unknown burning desire appears.

“Listen, Fred,” the hippie touches the boy with his boot lightly. “Get up, you're still a man, come on.”

The young man rests his elbows on the floor, trying to get up, but for some reason his strength leaves him. The body continues to shake. He is not able to cope with it. At least he tries to kneel, but something bursts inside. This incredibly painful feeling grabs him by the neck, squeezes his ribs, breaks him in half.

“Why?” he asks the emptiness. He doesn't care about Shaggy. Don't give a damn about anyone and anything except his insignificance.

“Why?” he shouts hysterically. Rogers hears a couple of years in the drama club in his tone and for some reason wants to spit on the floor. He is not going to lend a hand to someone who has always neglected others.

“Get up” blurted out a long-haired hippie, not even wanting to be near this man.

“Why?” the blond publishes another animal scream and his interlocutor can no longer be silent.

“Listen here, I'll tell you something you will remember forever. Maybe you’ll even think about it” the sobs broke off in an instant. “You should accept that there are people much more worthy than you”

No. No. No. Jones keeps repeating this in his head, not letting it go inside. No, it’s not like that. The son of a wealthy official. The idol of many schoolgirls. Sportsman. Handsome. Nobody can be better. No one.  
“Ready?”

The schoolgirl nods. Zip squeak. The painful moment of putting on a condom, and now the man is over her again. In his face, the girl finds something divine. He kisses the girl, letting her taste sour and salty of her body, and slowly enters.

“If it hurts, tell me” Paul continues to insert his penis deeper and as smoothly as he can. At one point, Daphne grunts, the feeling of tearing flesh inside overtook her. “Are you okay?”  
... and since it happens, you are the loser.

It can't be. How could some filthy bastard tell him something like that? Who the Hell is he to say that? No. No. No.

“Yes, go on” she says and endures the pain further, not wanting to deprive her partner of pleasure. Having reached the limit, the movements became cyclical. Push after push brought new pain, but gradually it began to deliver a thrill. Daphne diligently turns her screams into moans. The Paul is accelerating. Hot flesh penetrating her from the inside becomes desirable. Now, the imitation has grown into sincere sighs. The pace slowed down. Stanley leaned over to the girl, kissed her neck and bit gently. In a rush of lust, Blake is no longer afraid, she strokes her beloved by the shoulders, snuggles closer and even begins to maintain a rhythm herself. The man spreads her legs wider. The rhythm accelerates again, becomes sharp, less controllable. There is still a glimpse of pain. In this crazy shaking, it seems that time stands still. Daph is forgotten in feelings of love and lust. The universe ceases to exist for both.

You're not good enough for Daphne ...

Generally nonsense, they were made for each other. Daphne can't be anyone else’s. Fred said "forever" firmly. Nobody can ever get between them. This is just an affair, isn't it? A temporary mischief? Will she return without a shadow of a doubt? Everything will be as before, except that she gave herself not to him.

Have the dignity to stop these stupid attempts to jump over your head.

Paul pulls back, lies on his back. Daphne looks at him questioningly. He pulls her hand toward him with a hint. The girl smoothly sits on the vocalist's considerable cock. A man feels every millimetre of hers, thanks to this slowness. It's pretty unpleasant to let him in completely, but she doesn't show it. Blake continues to rise and fall. Controlling the situation, the schoolgirl indulged in pleasures with great enthusiasm. Jumping on his cock, increasing speed, she rolls her eyes in bliss. Some more. A little more and something will happen. Paul grabs her buttocks, pulling her tightly towards him. At one point, he begins to moan with her, his movements become fiercer.  
Fred just can't. He begins to scream and roar with renewed vigor:  
“You're a lying fucker!” He shouts to Shaggy. “You’re nothing, look at yourself! Who are you saying this to? How did it come to your mind? Fucking communist, asshole hipp...”

“I just said what you had said once,” Rogers snapped dryly. Jones fell silent. What confidence and strength the blond felt then! Now that nothing, lying in dust and earth, in sweat and tears, is not even able to rise. "Now, please, get off my van and let me sleep."

Fred is confused. He cannot leave. He feels so bad. Everything inside is tearing apart. He doesn't want to live at all. With another loud sigh, a strange thought comes to the young man. This Situation is indeed very reminiscent of something. Only Shaggy was not lying on the floor, but simply locked in the toilet of a roadside eatery, not wanting to see anyone. A year ago, he also destroyed the relationship between Shaggy and Daphne, or rather, did not allow it to begin. Why is he now in his place? In the wrong place like a dumb loser?

Daph arches and freezes. Flash. A bright light is distributed in waves of electricity, filling everything from the inside. The first thing that she feels after forgetting is the pulsation inside. His and hers pulsate in unison. Exhausted, she lies down beside him. Starchild hugs the girl. Her ginger head rests on his heart. Daphne believes that the feeling of their love will never decay.

Yes, Starchild is actually a hundred times better than him. He rightfully deserves to take the best from the loser's life. Including the meaning of this life.

“Sorry,” Fred says quietly, not out of remorse, but rather because his friend seems angry. “Can I stay in the van? I feel very bad.”

Rogers prepares to blurt out something obscene, but stops. Of course, the blond athlete is still a fucker, but he seems to have suffered. Moreover, Shaggy will not be able to fall asleep tonight.

“Oh, y’know, you can stay” the hippie waves his hand and hurries to pull the key from the ignition. “I'll take the keys. Who the fuck knows what's in your head?”  
The driver almost jumps out of Van.

“I just want to die,” Fred says in a lifeless voice after him. After all that had been experienced, one vivid image remained in my head - a dangerous razor in the glove compartment.

“That's why I took the keys,” the Volkswagen owner mutters at last and slams the doors. By this loud sound, it seems, Jones's life was cut short. He crawled for the blade.  
Paul turns off the light, goes to bed and covers Daphne. She's so young. He even feels like a pedophile. Her serene pretty face with still childish cheeks is incredibly cozy and warms his heart. Holding her tiny white palm in his hands, Starchild falls asleep.

The two of them were left alone. On the very outskirts, they went behind the fence and just stand in the field, in absolute silence, away from everyone. Only the rustle of the grass and the barely perceptible whistle of the wind, gentle, warm, filled with a real scent of greenery. Stars are falling somewhere in the sky. There are many of them in the prime of summer. The Spaceman gives innerving Shaggy a friendly brief hug. He barely trembles, because somewhere nearby his friend, writhing in sobs, is bleeding, but he will not come to his aid. He can't be helped. Sooner or later, a similar fate will overtake every human being which is striving to show others their place. Bus owner swallows nervously and looks up at the sky. Unbelievably beautiful. He exchanges glances with Ace, sees in his reciprocal look something dear and close. Both of them are also eager to be trampled into the mud by those who could not do a damn thing without them.

“Well, you treated him harshly,” Frehley suddenly breaks the silence.

“What’s harshly?” Shaggy asks. “I just repeated to him what he once told me, and nothing more”

“What did he say that he now sits cutting veins?”

The hippie sighs heavily and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette. Clutching it between his fingers, he does not dare to light it, looks thoughtfully and still says:

“You should accept that there are people much more worthy than you, and since it happens, you are the loser. You are not good enough for Daphne, have the dignity to stop these stupid attempts to jump over your head. It's pathetic” Shaggy said dryly and, clicking a lighter, took a drag on the joint. He draws smoke deeper and deeper into the lungs, closing eyes. The Spaceman looked at him hardly surprised. He did not ask anything about his feelings for the redhead.

“If he dies, will the team fall apart?” he said hesitantly.

“It’s already fallen apart when Daphne met the Starchild,” the hippie snapped. “I'm glad she’s finally got a loving boyfriend. If only he didn't leave her after that night.”


End file.
